


Little Yellow Tags: Part 8

by lurkdusoleil



Series: Little Yellow Tags [12]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BDSM, Depression, Dom/sub, Eating Disorders, Future Fic, M/M, Power Exchange, Punishment, Relapse, Self-Harm, collaring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-16
Updated: 2013-07-16
Packaged: 2017-12-20 10:12:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/886043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lurkdusoleil/pseuds/lurkdusoleil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been a long time since Kurt needed Blaine to take over, but he's slipping fast.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Yellow Tags: Part 8

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings/kinks: depression, references to self-harm, explicit descriptions of self-harming imagery, references to eating disorders, heavy D/s, slut-shaming (during dirty talk), nasty mean fashion bitches being nasty and mean, barebacking, comeplay, rough sex, punishment (paddling, corner time), bondage, consideration of safewording, oversensitivity, totally unrealistic level of orgasms.

Sometimes, Kurt wishes they were still full-time in the lifestyle.

It’s been nearly three years since graduation, at the height of their exchanging of power, and a little less than that since they decided to move away from full-time and only slip into their roles when they want or need it. It’s not too often, but neither is it rare. It’s just a part of them, something that shows itself once or twice a month, or more, if either of them are having a particularly stressful time.

But Kurt wonders, on occasion, if he might be better off just never being in control of his own life. He just seems to fuck it up.

NYADA has been killing him. He has no idea why he opted to take this dance class--trying to learn the basics of ballet without any prior training was a stupid idea, and his professor has made sure he knows it. And with his Body and Language instructor pushing them into his chapter on Nudity and Taste, he’s nervous. He’s already gotten hell about having a tattoo--they make everyone write in on their applications any defining physical characteristics, though Kurt’s starting to think it’s less for how marketable they are and more for identifying them if they murder each other. Or the teacher that tells them they’ll never get hired if they have a _perfectly hidden_ tattoo after making the class get down to their underwear on a day Kurt chose the little briefs Blaine likes.

Speaking of which, Blaine’s never home. The point of them moving in together after their first year in the dorms was to be together more often. But Blaine is working on a thesis or a project or a something, Kurt doesn’t know how Blaine’s psychology program works--but either way, he got a group together to set up an emergency hotline, a hotline to end all hotlines, something with a system that matched people up with someone who could understand them, and included a wide array of specialties and had volunteers who had actual offices and could see people in appointments and they had certifications and everything. And it’s his baby, so even though he has a team, he’s out of the apartment all the time making sure things are going exactly how he plans. Because that’s Blaine--he has to make sure everyone is okay. It’s why he chose this major.

But Kurt needs him. He’s having one of his down swings, as he calls them, and he needs his boyfriend, and potentially his Dom. But Blaine’s busy, and he can’t get in the way. This is important--not just for Blaine, but for the people he’ll be helping. Because Blaine’s a helper.

It’s just hard.

So one Thursday night, he calls his dad, knowing it’s his only full day off, knowing he’ll be up a little late having an extra beer and watching a game of some kind.

“Hey kiddo. What’s up.”

“Why does something have to be up?” Kurt teases half-heartedly.

“Because you’re calling?” Burt suggests. “If you’re doing your check-ins, you do it over Skype, and you make sure Carole’s the one who answers it so I don’t accidentally hang up. So what’s up?”

“I’m just having a hard time,” Kurt admits with a sigh.

“Well, thanks for telling me,” Burt says. “Wanna talk about it?”

It’s like “hard time” was a code word, and now Burt’s too careful. Kurt bites his lip--he doesn’t want to worry his father either, this is not his problem anymore, he’s an adult--

“I’m just having an issue with an instructor,” Kurt says. “The jerk insists I’ll never get a job because of a _perfectly_ respectable, hidden tattoo--”

“When did you get a tattoo?”

Kurt doesn’t even think before his mouth opens.

“Senior--um.”

“Senior um?”

“Senior year, dad,” Kurt says. He’s in the shit now, might as well do his best to come clean. “Senior year of high school.”

“Wait a second,” Burt says, and Kurt can hear the anger simmering below the surface. “You got a tattoo while under my roof, and you didn’t tell me about it?”

“Yes? Look, Dad, it was...it was just a thing, an impulse--”

“You got a permanent mark on your body on a _whim_?”

“Look, I love it, it’s perfectly fine,” Kurt babbles. This is spiralling out of control so quickly. “I--”

“Did Blaine convince you to get it?”

“No! Dad, he didn’t. He was going to have me get a henna tattoo, a temporary one. I decided I wanted it to be permanent.”

“I gotta say, I’m real disappointed, Kurt. I didn’t ask a whole lot of you. You had a lot of freedom. And you went behind my back. You know how I feel about this sorta thing--”

“What, having a tattoo makes me a delinquent?” Kurt protests. “Blaine has tattoos--”

“Yeah, an’ look what kind of kid he was--”

“That’s totally unfair, Dad.” This is not what he planned, and he can’t cry, he can’t cry on the phone with his dad--

“Look, I’m just sayin’, maybe it wasn’t your best decision. And that it happened when you were still here--”

“I gotta go, Dad. I’ll talk to you later.”

Kurt hangs up, and then bites his hand, fighting back tears and failing. He just needed his Dad--not his father, not an authority figure, he needed the Dad that accepts him for who he is and gives him good advice and comforts him. But he wasn’t getting that, he was just getting... _attacked_.

Despite everything he knows, it suddenly feels like Kurt has no one.

And he knows he’s not doing well. He can’t remember for sure if he ate today, and that’s generally a sign that he didn’t. He knows he’s had coffee--a lot of coffee, way too much coffee for the maintenance of healthy living. Double shots and triple shots in his mocha, and he knows Blaine prefers him to get the full fat version but he’s been asking for non-fat so he feels like he’s in control of something, and that’s not a good sign.

Has he lost weight? He can’t remember. And he hasn’t kept a proper sleep schedule, and--he’s _failing._ He’s failing Blaine, he’s failing himself. Everything they’ve been through, and he hasn’t learned, he isn’t able to do _anything--_

Maybe he just needs a second opinion. A detached, not-at-all-about-him opinion. Maybe he’ll see he’s not alone.

It takes him a few minutes to figure out what he wants to type in the search bar. Finally, he decides to be honest with himself, and with a wild sob, he types in _self-harming tendencies_.

He does not get what he’s expecting.

An hour later, his face is covered with dried, salty tears. He feels gritty and tainted. His breathing is ragged, and he sniffles every few minutes. He knows his eyes are wide, his face mostly blank, hiding what’s really going on in his head.

All of these people feel like he does. Out of control, alone, missing something. And...a lot of them find this, this _thing_ \--they find it beautiful. They starve themselves, they carve words into their skin, they _photograph_ it. Kurt spends a long time staring at the pictures--red words around belly buttons, on arms and thighs, across deflated breasts and jutting hip bones. And after a while, after reading the words that come with the photos, the _release_ and _symbolism_ and _control_ , Kurt starts to feel like maybe he knows what this is about.

“What’s going on?”

Kurt jumps, his heart skipping far too many beats and probably subtracting eons from his life, and he whirls, heaving for breath, as Blaine turns on the light. And wow, he’d been sitting in darkness and hadn’t even heard the door--

“Kurt, what is that.”

Blaine sounds distant. Somehow cold. And when Kurt turns and really looks at what’s on his screen, he knows why--because Blaine just went totally cold, and Kurt knows because he just did it himself.

There’s a gruesome picture on his screen. Kurt barely looks at it before he shuts the screen, feeling sick, but the impression of a lot of blood on parted, pale skin sticks with him. Was he actually considering that? Was he actually thinking about doing something that makes his stomach churn, that makes him want to run and hide and sob his eyes out because he can’t get the image out of his mind?

“Kurt, what was that.”

Blaine almost sounds angry, but Kurt can tell he’s controlling himself, trying not to scare Kurt. And Kurt doesn’t blame him--he should be mad, he should want to kill Kurt himself--

“I don’t know,” Kurt says, hardly above a whisper. He starts to panic, shaking, his blood feeling too-fast and freezing cold all at the same time, like a comet, and he’ll only burn up if he comes down to earth, a crash he feels fast approaching.

“I--I don’t know, Blaine,” Kurt stammers. “I just...I was looking for help, and then I just found this, and--and I don’t know--”

“Okay,” Blaine says, voice steady now, and Kurt looks up at him. He’s standing straight, and striding over, and Kurt drops out of his seat and onto the floor, onto his knees.

“I’m sorry, Sir,” he says, and Blaine runs a hand through his hair, stopping short.

“Don’t be sorry, sweetheart, I should’ve been here for you,” Blaine says. He puts a finger over Kurt’s lips to stop protests he knows are coming. “Now I just want you to tell me--are you feeling bad again?”

Kurt nods, face crumpling. His head hurts, he’s tired, he’s hungry, and he feels everything crashing, he’s going to crash--

“Okay. Stand up for me.”

Kurt rises, and instantly Blaine’s holding him tight. He bursts into tears again, into Blaine’s neck, warm and spicy, no longer smelling of cigarettes unless they go out drinking, but maybe if Kurt breathes deep enough--

“That’s it. Let out the bad feelings. Open up the inner bottle.”

Kurt can’t help but laugh. On a rant back in high school, he’d been despairing about having to lock up things he wanted to say, bottling them up, and he’d accidentally blurted out something about an _inner bottle_ , and Blaine had never let it go. It’s almost an instant guaranteed laugh from Kurt, so why would he let that go?

For several long minutes, he cries gently, quieter now. Blaine holds him, strong, _there_ , giving Kurt every reason to realize that he was wrong--he’s not alone. And not just physically--he knows from all he read that some people feel alone even when people are looking directly at them. But Blaine _sees_ him, really sees him, and understands, and Kurt’s so, so lucky.

“Will you be okay if I wrap you up on the couch?” Blaine asks, pulling back and guiding Kurt to the couch. “Do you need more than that right now?”

“No,” Kurt says, and Blaine just sits him down, right up against the arm of the couch, knees up, and he wraps him in the thick-threaded, soft blanket Kurt loves, completely wrapping him in it, even giving him a little hood of it. Only his face peeks out.

“I’m going to put on some TV, and then I’m going to get you something to eat. What have you had today?”

“I’m sorry--”

“It’s okay, baby, I know,” Blaine says. “You stay right here, I’ll be back. If you need me, I’m right in the kitchen.”

It’s not like Blaine won’t hear him--they live in a loft, with no interior walls, something in Bushwick they got off of Rachel when she decided to move in with boyfriend-number-whatever. If Kurt turns his head, he’ll be able to look directly _at_ Blaine, but instead he focuses on the TV. He feels like Blaine wants him to--wants him to get lost in another world for a few minutes, distract himself. So he lets Blaine put on vintage Project Runway, and he smiles along when Tim Gunn appears, dreaming of a future after he’s retired from the stage in his mid-thirties, when he’s designed several successful lines, when he’s a household name, and he’ll be the better-haired Tim Gunn of the Project Runway reboot, with Coco Rocha instead of Heidi, and they’ll be fabulous friends--

“Here you go,” Blaine says, and Kurt smiles wryly at him.

“You made me a burrito?”

“Twice!” Blaine says cheerfully, and Kurt giggles.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too. Eat your burrito. I used up the meat in the fridge, I hope you don’t mind that there’s no beans, and yes there’s hot sauce. And avocado. I kind of just...assembled it with what we have. I hope it’s edible.”

It is very, very weird. Kurt eats the whole thing.

“Thank you,” he says, when he’s done, licking sauce off his fingers.

“I can’t believe you ate that,” Blaine says. “That was possibly the fattiest thing I have ever made you eat. It had sour cream in it.”

“I guess I needed it,” Kurt says. “And nothing is fattier than that chicken wing pizza I devoured by myself at Santana’s party--”

“Oh, god, the one you dropped on your shirt when you were drunk?” Blaine laughs. “And you cried--”

“That was a four-hundred dollar shirt, Blaine,” Kurt explains, for the millionth time. “I mean, I only paid forty, but still--”

“Feeling better?”

He sighs. “Yeah, a bit.”

“How about a bath?” Blaine asks. “Relax before bedtime. I bet your back hurts from lifting Corrine.”

Corrine is his dance partner in ballet, and Kurt’s certain she’s been carbo-loading. Not that he has a problem with women gaining weight--or anyone gaining weight, really--but she keeps insisting she’s one-ten and Kurt’s arms are telling him differently. Maybe he should talk to her, she’s just doing the reverse of what he has been--

“Okay.”

Blaine runs his bath, puts in a citrusy, peppery oil, and sits with Kurt the whole time. It’s warm and steamy and the iron claw-foot tub holds the heat against his skin so beautifully. He feels like the tension just drains away from him, aches appearing and then disappearing, and he finds himself yawning before the water even cools.

“Ready to go bed?” Blaine asks, scratching Kurt’s scalp, and his fingers are _magic_. He nods, smiling muzzily.

“Okay. Come on.”

\--

Kurt barely remembers getting into bed. All he knows is that when he wakes, he’s totally naked, he’s chilly, and Blaine’s oven-warm body is right next to his. So he curls in, connecting their skin at all points he can manage, and smiles.

And then he panics.

That’s sunlight coming through the windows. On a Friday. On a day when he has Body and Language class, and an appointment with his vocal coach, and he gets up _before_ sunrise, because he has a _routine._

“I already called you in,” Blaine mumbles, half-hidden by his pillow. “I explained personally to your instructors that your father is having his first chemotherapy session today, for his regression.”

“What?” Kurt sits up straight. “Did you talk to him? What--”

“I lied, Kurt,” Blaine says. “Your dad is fine. You know they totally removed it. But your professors don’t.”

“This feels immoral.”

“So is mistreating you because you have a tattoo that’s completely invisible under most underwear, and making you strip in class without informing you ahead of time and leaving you in the tiny briefs, and so is yelling at you for having the same level of talent as everyone else in the class but no prior training.”

“No taking the higher road?”

“The higher road got you here.”

It’s a bit harsh, and Kurt gasps and bites his lip. Blaine immediately grabs him and holds him closer, kissing his forehead.

“I’m sorry, I’m not mad at you,” Blaine says. “Come back to sleep, okay? Everything is taken care of, we can talk about it when we’re both rested.”

Kurt nods, sighing.

“Okay.”

\--

When Kurt wakes again, it’s to a calm, lazy day with Blaine, filled with too much food and television and more kissing than they’ve done in ages. It’s nice--it’s like every Saturday they might have had during their much-less-busy first year, had they not decided to live in dorms, and it’s like the one Sunday a month they both had off in the second year, and something all too rare nowadays, something that will be even harder to come by next year. Kurt falls asleep replete and safe in Blaine’s arms, feeling so lucky that his Dom knows how to take care of him, that his boyfriend knows how to love him. They don’t talk, they don’t try to figure anything out--they just exist together, suspended in time for a single day.

The next morning, he wakes to Blaine fingering him.

“Oh, shit,” he moans, his body waking to Blaine slipping in a second finger. He barely tenses for a moment before he goes lax again, allowing the stretch and swimming in half-sleep and the way Blaine knows exactly how to work his fingers.

“Good morning,” Blaine purrs, licking Kurt’s cock lightly every few seconds where it’s standing straight up between his legs, base held in Blaine’s fist. And then three fingers breach him, and he’s writhing, coming fully awake in waves that match the ebb and flow of the pressure on his prostate, skillfully administered by Blaine’s long fingers, joined by his lips brushing over the swollen head of his dick erratically, keeping him from complacency.

“Fuck me,” Kurt begs. He needs it, he can’t stay in this halfway-there state of limbo, not when his muscles want to clench and release, tighten and wind and then spin out of control, knowing Blaine will take care of everything.

“No.”

Kurt groans, frustrated, spreading his legs wide, hoping Blaine will see how much he needs this.

“Blaine--”

“That’s not what you’re calling me right now, beautiful.”

Kurt gasps, heat shivering over his skin.

“Sir. Sir, please--”

“No.”

Blaine doesn’t allow him anything. The moment he starts moving himself down onto Blaine’s fingers, he starts moving with Kurt, keeping his fingers in the exact same place inside him, never enough. And it doesn’t matter how far apart his legs get, how intense the stretch on his ass and groin and thighs--Blaine doesn’t fall between them, doesn’t shove them up to his shoulders and sink into him. He just keeps fingering him, tongue darting out to tease his cock on occasion, but otherwise not touching him.

He’s not totally sure how long Blaine does it. He falls into a state of survival, convinced that the denial, the tease, is going to kill him, and he just endures, breathing through the sharp, wide flashes of pleasure in his body. He shakes, and whines, and he’s not sure he ever stops begging, despite Blaine’s constantly litany of refusal.

\--until.

“Fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck--”

“Okay.”

Kurt almost bites his tongue to stop babbling, sobbing when he sees Blaine lubing his cock and kneeling up before him. He lays back completely, arching his back, presenting everything of himself that he can, arms thrown to the sides, legs twitching as Blaine lifts them, tilting Kurt’s ass up so he can sink down into it in one smooth stroke of his hips, sliding easily past the loosened muscles and staring at Kurt ceaselessly, baring him.

“Do not look away,” Blaine commands, and Kurt’s eyes flutter, but don’t shut like he wants them to. He stays focused, eyes locked with Blaine’s, chest heaving for breath as Blaine fucks him slow, too slow.

“Going to take care of you,” Blaine says. “Okay?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“That’s my good boy. Thank you for trusting me.”

With that, he reaches down, still thrusting lazily, and wraps Kurt’s dick in his hand, stroking fast and hard, surprising Kurt, drawing a cry from his throat. He thrashes, and then, in a painful moment of too-much, he comes, body bucking hard beneath Blaine’s. Blaine holds him down, and doesn’t slow down or speed up--he just keeps fucking Kurt at the same steady pace, angling with practice and hitting him far too often in his most sensitive spot.

“Hurts--it hurts--”

“Do you want me to stop?” Blaine asks, maintaining his pace and position.

“No--more--need more--”

“Is that how you ask me?”

“Please, Sir, please give me more? Need it... _more_ , harder, faster, _something_ , please--”

“You’ve been a good boy,” Blaine muses, far too calm for someone whose dick feels like fucking stone inside Kurt. “Very good. How about you come for me one more time?”

“I will, Sir, I just--I need--”

“I know what you need,” Blaine interrupts. “We’ll get there. Do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

Blaine nods, smiling, and leans down to kiss Kurt gently.

“Thank you. Now, all I want you to do is get comfortable.”

Kurt relaxes, legs falling to the sides, arms lifting up over his head, and then he looks up hopefully at Blaine, who looks down at him musingly.

“No, that’s not quite right,” he hums. “Wrap around me. Legs up--can you get them on my shoulders? Good boy. Now wrap your arms around my neck--good. Now hold on.”

Kurt tightens around him, and then cries out at the next thrust, hard, almost jolting him right off of Blaine and up the bed. If it weren’t for Blaine’s grip around his thighs, keeping them high and tight against his torso, it would’ve happened.

“I said hold on,” Blaine growls, and Kurt clings tighter, every breath a whimper, unable to leave his voice unused for a single moment, especially when Blaine pounds into him again, and again, speeding up gradually until Kurt’s wailing, ass sore and body singing from his overactive nerves. He feels like he could come any second, and suddenly he’s reminded of their experiment before they left for college, when they took ecstasy and fucked in front of everyone, and every inch of him had felt like it was coming, everywhere he was touched. It’s like his body goes into recall, because instantly the pressure starts to grow, the fire in his belly, and the tip of his cock leaks over his stomach in an impressive, continuous little stream, and he’s not sure why he’s not covered in white, why he’s not spasming and screaming in Blaine’s arms, but he’s still holding on, still lingering on a higher edge than he’s ever experienced--

“Do you want to know what’s going to happen today, Kurt?”

Kurt can’t answer--his mouth can’t form words, he just keeps making the same high-pitched, desperate sounds, but he nods, frantic--

“I’m going to come in this sweet ass of yours,” Blaine groans, dark and deep, voice jumping with the jolting of his hips. “Gonna come so hard. Spent an hour before I woke you up just touching myself, building up, getting myself nice and ready for you. Can you feel how heavy my balls are, Kurt? Feel it against your ass? Because I’m going to fill you up, and then plug you, keep it in you all day--”

At the thought of walking around with Blaine’s come inside him, Kurt’s body seizes and tightens and he feels one long, straining moment, and he comes so hard he’s sure he’s pulled a muscle in his groin, he just _keeps coming_ , keeps spurting mostly-clear fluid all over his stomach, enough to drip down his hips and smear onto his thighs where they’re pressed up to his sides.

“Oh, _fuck_ \--”

Blaine shouts a quick curse, and then grinds into Kurt deep, and he might as well be splitting Kurt in half, dividing him up into pieces with his cock, filling the spaces and gluing Kurt back together.

Kurt drifts, limp and sweaty and satisfied so completely, and he can barely feel Blaine pulling out and moving around until he returns and slips a cold, thin plug into him.

“Ow, is that metal?” Kurt asks, abruptly brought out of his float by the sensation. He cranes his neck and looks down, but Blaine’s already pulling back, the plug seated inside him. “Seriously?”

“Mmm, barely stays in, with how fucked out you are,” Blaine says with a filthy smirk. It’s times like these that Kurt can see the boy he was, rebellious and tattooed and pierced and wearing _mesh._ “And it’s pretty slippery in there, you might want to clench down if you feel it slipping while you’re at work.”

“Work!?”

“I’ve already got an outfit for you. You’re in in two hours, so if you want to shower and get ready, you’ve got an hour to do it if you want to be on time. Go ahead--outfit will be laid out on the bed, and then breakfast will be ready for you when you come out.”

Blaine leaves him there, walking out into the apartment totally naked, not bothering to wash up or dress--Saturday is an off day for the hotline during the setup stage, unless he can convince his team to work the extra day, but evidently he decided to allow himself the break this time. So he takes his sweet time, ass bouncing as he walks shamelessly away, and Kurt groans.

“You’re going to kill me.”

\--

The outfit is gorgeous, and exactly the kind of outfit that inspires confidence in Kurt. Tight slacks in pale grey, with a subtle pinstripe stitching in royal purple. A black button up, with a deep plum waistcoat over it, lacing up tight in the small of his back. And instead of a tie, or a scarf, Kurt’s collar box rests above the shirt. And Kurt understands how he’s to wear the shirt--at least the top two buttons undone, leaving a small dip of flesh bare down his chest, just enough for his thin chest hairs to peak out. He rolls up the sleeves of the shirt, and slips into the waistcoat, reaching back to make sure it’s tightly laced. His pants fit snug over him, and Blaine didn’t provide underwear, so they slip over his ass and up snug against where the plug is bound to be showing at least a little bit. Kurt blushes furiously in anticipation of walking around like that, everyone will know--

When he’s dressed, he heads out into the apartment, smelling something meaty and savory. Blaine, still completely naked, is setting the table, a huge plate of eggs and crumbled sausage and toast right in Kurt’s normal spot. Kurt walks up uncertainly, his collar box in hand, and Blaine nods to the chair.

“Sit up at the table, baby,” Blaine says. “Put the box down in the middle of the table. You have half an hour before you have to head out if you want to get your coffee. Go ahead and eat what you can.”

It’s a generous way to phrase the command. Blaine knows Kurt has trouble eating when he’s like this, and it is a truly huge breakfast. Kurt sits himself down and starts with the eggs, which are loaded with cheese and veggies and spices--they’re fluffy and delicious. And the sausage is fatty and maple-flavored, and the toast is loaded with real butter. Kurt manages most of the plate, though, feeling like his waistcoat needs to be loosened up a little bit by the time he finishes.

“Okay, baby, can you kneel for me?”

Blaine stands up, still completely naked after the dishes are in the kitchen, and Kurt still feels completely in his power. He doesn’t even have to wear clothes--his tight little body, hair on his chest and stomach, his carved hipbones, even his flaccid cock is just fucking _beautiful_ and revealed and Blaine still has all the power. He’s totally vulnerable but totally in control, and Kurt loves him desperately. He kneels willingly, unmindful of his clothes, clenching tight on the plug to prevent it from slipping as his ass pulls tight into the position.

Blaine opens the box and lifts out the collar, still the same one they’ve always used, well-cared for and beautiful. He turns back to Kurt and carefully slips it around his neck, latching it in back and centering the ring in the birds’ mouths over the dip in his collarbone.

“You know what this collar means, baby. Today and tomorrow, while you’re wearing it, I’m kicking it up a notch. It might get intense--if you need me to, I can call you out for Monday as well, to recover. You can safeword at any time, but unless that happens, I’m the one completely in control. Do you understand?”

Kurt nods, settling into his role, into his submission, suddenly pinned beneath it.

“You are to keep your phone on you at all times,” Blaine instructs to Kurt’s bowed head once the collar is locked, tight and heavy around his neck. “I will be providing instructions throughout the day, and checking in on you. If you need anything at all, you are to contact me immediately. If you are unsure of anything, contact me. I will have my phone next to me at all times, and will be ready whenever you need or want me. Do you understand?”

“I understand, sir,” Kurt says, his voice low and even and quiet, calming under Blaine’s control. Blaine leans down and kisses him gently, lifting his chin with one finger.

“Have a good day at work, baby,” he says.

\--

The plug is definitely an inconvenience, but Kurt feels proud of himself for enduring it. He’s constantly aware of it, slippery inside him, keeping him tense and sure, and it is like Blaine is with him, a consistent reminder of his place.

His phone is also a reminder. It buzzes a few times an hour for check-ins, providing little instructions like _make sure you pay attention when people are talking to you_ and _let yourself have wild ideas._ Kurt does well because of it--he impresses Isabelle more than once, and he can’t wait to get home and tell Blaine about it in person.

He sends out his fair share of texts as well. He asks Blaine for permission for everything, needing the support and certainty that comes with its granting. He feels perfectly okay going to the bathroom when he needs to, taking breaks and eating and sipping at coffee. And no guilt washes over him when he is commanded by his Dom to slip into the nearest abandoned area and push his plug into himself, fucking himself with it to feel the slide of his Dom’s come inside him, teasing himself to the point of coming inside his truly expensive pants before stopping, hovering.

 _Such a good boy,_ Blaine sends when Kurt tells him he successfully brought himself to the edge but not over it. _When you’re able, go back to work._

 _Thank you, Sir,_ Kurt replies, and it’s a few more minutes before he calms down enough to slip back to what he was doing before Blaine stole him away.

And it all goes so well. And maybe, in retrospect, Kurt should have seen the ruin coming.

“Ugh, can you get off that thing?”

Despite the scoff, Kurt quickly hits send to Blaine, asking him if he should go with sage or fern for the base of his swatchboard that Isabelle wanted for a project with three different important designers. It’s a huge project, and Kurt getting the go-ahead to work on some of the details is huge for him, and certain other workers who aren’t interns have been upset about it.

Portia Price’s real name is Amanda, but Kurt would never tell her he knew that. In this world, it pays to have certain pieces of information kept back, for future use, and _Portia_ is probably going to be one of the people he needs to knock over on the way up. She’s hated the attention Kurt gets, even if she only works with their department as-needed and on loan from purchasing. As a permanent employee, she thinks she should get everything over Kurt, and she hasn’t made a secret about it.

Until now, Kurt has been able to handle her easily. But seeing her sneering face beneath pin-straight platinum hair stolen from the same person as her name, Kurt quails, not entirely ready for whatever confrontation she has in mind.

“I’m sorry, is there something I can help you with?” Kurt asks, turning back to his board and deliberating between the two colors again, itching to read the message Blaine sent back as his phone buzzes in his pocket.

“Are you going to answer that?”

Kurt bites the inside of his lip and takes a deep breath.

“Didn’t you just ask me to get off of it?”

“The buzzing is annoying,” Portia says, peeking over his shoulder at his work. “Gross, who even wears that color--”

“Did you come in here just to insult the work Isabelle already approved?” Kurt snaps. “Because--”

He breaks off at another buzz from his pocket, and he decides to hell with it, and pulls it out. He has three texts from Blaine.

_I think the sage has more options for accent colors, but the fern is bolder._

_Why don’t you tell me what you want for the project._

_Baby? Do I need to call?_

He quickly types out _BRB_ and sends it so Blaine doesn’t freak out, but apparently he didn’t send it fast enough.

“Are you asking your boyfriend for advice on this?” Portia asks incredulously, and Kurt whirls around. She’d still been staring over his shoulder, and had apparently seen everything. “Isn’t he in a mental institution or something?”

“He’s in school to be a psych--”

“Whatever. He’s not in fashion. And he doesn’t work here. _You_ should be doing your job, not him. Does Isabelle Wright seriously rely on someone so incompetent?”

“Why are you doing this?” Kurt demands, losing it. His heart is pounding, his head swims, and his eyes itch with the need to cry. All he wants to do is curl up all of a sudden, but he can’t.

“What does it matter to you? You’re not even a real part of this team, you just got dumped on us because your own department got sick of you--”

“Oh, please,” Portia shoots back, cold and pleased when she smiles. “I got sent over here because my boss wanted me to keep an eye on the useless expenditures that Isabelle makes over here, and from what I’ve seen it’s all come from you. As far as I’m concerned, you’re a useless expenditure yourself, and Vogue would be better off without you _and_ your tasteless boyfriend.”

“Portia, go wait for me in my office.”

Isabelle’s at the door, and Portia and Kurt both startle at the uncommonly sharp tone of her voice. Without a word, but not without a righteous hair flip and disdainful side glance, Portia exits the room, and it’s then that Kurt realizes that he hadn’t held back his tears, which are now wet on his face.

“Honey, are you okay?”

Isabelle, sweet amazing Isabelle is in front of him, rubbing his upper arms gently, looking up at him with concern. He sniffs and wipes his eyes impatiently and shakes his head.

“I don’t even know why I let her get to me,” he admits. “Usually I can ignore her but I just--”

“I know it’s been a tough few weeks for you,” Isabelle interrupts soothingly, smiling at him. But Kurt’s stomach drops-- _weeks?_ “Why don’t you head home and enjoy the rest of your weekend with Blaine? You’ve done more work today than I needed you to do all week, and I think I have more than enough cause to push for you to get a permanent position instead of another extension on the internship. Would that make you feel better?”

Kurt holds his breath, and then lets it out in a gust.

“Isabelle, I don’t know what to say--”

“Go home, have a nice weekend, and I’ll see you next weekend? I think you need some time off, especially if you’re going to be on a fixed schedule soon. And you can thank me then.”

Kurt just nods, his lips trembling shut, and Isabelle pats him once before heading out. Mercifully, she shuts the door behind him, and he collapses into one of the chairs at the table in the center of the room.

 _I’m coming home,_ Kurt types into his phone, sending to Blaine. _Isabelle gave me the week off._

Almost immediately, Blaine calls. Kurt almost doesn’t answer.

“Hello?” he asks when he does, and his voice is thick and upset and Blaine’s not stupid enough to believe any excuses about tongues burned on coffee or sad commercials on the waiting room TV.

There’s a brief silence, and then Blaine says, “I’m coming to pick you up.”

“No--Blaine,” Kurt protests. “I’d have to wait here an hour and you’d be traveling two hours straight--just--no--”

“I don’t want you travel an hour alone when you sound like that--”

“I’m already on my way out,” Kurt says, and it’s not a total lie--as soon as he says it he stands up and rushes out the door to grab his bag from the rack before he goes. “Blaine, I--”

“Whose collar are you wearing?”

Kurt almost stops dead, and he’s pretty sure he at least gets stares as he suddenly slows down for half a second before rushing even more. Blaine’s voice had been totally calm and even, but Kurt could _hear_ something darker, more dangerous in the weight of it.

Kurt glances around to make sure he’s out of earshot before he whispers, “Yours, Sir.”

“Then you discuss your concerns with me, rather than bulldozing over me when I’m trying to tell you why I came to a decision. You’re not trusting me, and you’re trying to take matters into your hands when you clearly handed that over to me. So as soon as I deem it appropriate, you will be punished.”

Kurt is so thankful that’s he’s alone in an elevator when a sob escapes him, his face clearly screwing up and going red and splotchy in the mirrored doors.

“Kurt, baby, I need you to tell me you’re okay. Do you need to safeword--”

“No, it’s not that,” Kurt assures. “I’ll take whatever punishment you want. Just--I just--”

“Get on the train. I’ll meet you at the halfway point and we’ll go back together from there.”

“Yes, sir.”

It’s easiest just to obey. Just do what he says, let him take over, do what he’s supposed to as a sub and let his Dom do what _he_ needs to.

It’s not easy once Blaine loses service and has to get off the phone, though. It’s not easy when he’s stuck on a train, first one and then another, with nothing to do but try not to fall over when the changes in momentum are too much.

And that’s his problem, isn’t it? He just can’t shift with the momentum. If he could do things his way, then he could be prepared for it at least, but if his life moves like a life tends to, starting and stopping and speeding and slowing erratically. And where normal people can hold on or sit down or brace themselves and just go with the movements, keep their balance, Kurt can’t keep his feet. Not Kurt, never him--he falls over, trying to go too fast when his life eases, struggling to catch up when it surges ahead.

And then there’s Blaine, who stands steadfast behind him, swaying _for_ him, keeping them both upright with a strength and love that astounds Kurt. And Kurt pushes him away and betrays him; he throws away all the work they’ve done together to get past moments like this. He starves himself, overworks, makes himself sick, and looks at horrible pictures on the internet to feel like he’s not alone. And even now, sitting under the harsh lights in the subway train, those things he saw seem so appealing again, the revulsion the pictures filled him with sweeping away, replaced with macabre fascination, something seductive and delicate about their memory. And Kurt sits and holds himself around the waist and tries not to think about how his skin suddenly crawls and he can’t decide if it’s a good or a bad crawl.

He’s worthless. He can’t hold himself together, he just relies on everyone else to boost him up. He doesn’t deserve that, he fails everyone. He failed his father by breaking his rules, he failed Isabelle and Vogue by asking Blaine for opinions on his work, he just failed Blaine by letting himself get this negative when Blaine struggles so hard with him to make him better. Blaine would be better off without him, he’d be free of the burden, and everyone else would, too--

He doesn’t quite snap out of it when he reaches the station he and Blaine agreed upon as their halfway point. But he pushes it far enough back that it quiets in the hum of the station and the rush of trains going by.

Blaine’s up on street level, leaning against the railing and looking intently down the stairs even as Kurt sees him and starts climbing up.

“Come on,” he says the second Kurt gets close enough for his arm to reach out and wrap it around Kurt’s waist.

“Are we--”

“We’re getting a cab, cut the travel in half,” Blaine says. “We can spare the money for it, Kurt. I want to get you home.”

Kurt just tucks into Blaine’s side, still holding himself tightly. But he won’t need to for much longer--his Dom is here, he’s taking care of it.

They slip into the first cab that pulls up, ignoring the eye rolls that the word _Bushwick_ pulls out of their gruff driver and settling right against each other, crowding one side of the backseat.

“We’re going to talk when we get home,” Blaine whispers. “But only if you’re up for it. If you’re not--”

“I am,” Kurt says, and lets Blaine hold him and keep him steady from the sway of the cab, too forceful in the movement of traffic and the fact that they neglected their seatbelts.

Nevertheless--Blaine has him.

\--

Kurt lets Blaine lead him into the loft and through the motions of getting himself settled down--shoes off, work clothes off, comfortable clothes on, bag away. When it’s done, Blaine leads Kurt into the living room, sitting down on the couch and patting the space beside him.

“Can--can I--”

“What is it, beautiful?”

Kurt sighs.

“Can I kneel?”

Blaine smiles and nods, dropping a pillow onto the floor by his feet. Kurt drops down onto it and lays his head on Blaine’s lap, hugging his legs and nuzzling his thigh when Blaine cards his fingers into Kurt’s hair.

“Can you talk about your day right now?” Blaine asks.

Kurt considers, and then shakes his head.

“Okay. I’ll talk about mine instead, how about that?” At a nod from Kurt, Blaine settles back and keeps playing with Kurt’s hair. “I stayed in and made some phone calls today. And the first person I called was Burt.”

Kurt bites the skin of his lip and tenses, and Blaine’s other hand comes up to brush over his lip with a thumb.

“Don’t do that, baby,” Blaine chides gently. “You’ll only regret it later.”

“Yes, I might make a career out of that.”

Blaine lifts his face with a hand under his chin, the other still gripped in Kurt’s hair, a little harder now.

“We’re going to talk about that,” Blaine promises. “Do you want to now, or should I continue?”

“I’m sorry for interrupting,” Kurt apologizes sincerely. To his horror, his lip starts trembling and the muscles around his eyes tense against the urge to crumple. He clamps his jaw down and holds back. “I’ll listen.”

Blaine nods and kisses his forehead before allowing Kurt to lay his head back down.

“I want you to think about why you didn’t tell me about your argument with Burt, okay?” Blaine says. “He told me his side, but I want to know yours as well. But just so you know, Burt’s not angry with you--he was sorry for losing his temper with you and wants to talk when you’re ready. He also wanted to fly out here first chance he could get, but I...dissuaded him until I could talk to you about it. Which we will--another time,” Blaine adds, when Kurt fidgets, wanting to say something. Instantly, Kurt settles--if Blaine says no, he won’t worry about it.

He can let his Dom take care of it. Let him make the decisions. Let his Dom guide him. It’s not his responsibility, not right now. And that knowledge, that insistence in his mind, relaxes him, and he shuts his eyes and waits for Blaine to continue.

“I also called one of my professors. Dr. Treadway.”

“The one that makes you watch movies and diagnose the characters?” Kurt checks--Blaine has a lot of professors.

“Yeah, her,” Blaine chuckles. “I needed some advice.”

Kurt tries not to despair--the worst case scenario in his head might not be the case at all, and he’ll do nothing but work himself up uselessly before Blaine explains what he needed advice about. His head isn’t always right--especially not like this, not when it’s trying to convince him so insistently that Blaine needed advice on how to handle him, that he needs advice on Kurt being crazy--

“Kurt, I need you to pay attention, okay? There’s a good chance what I say will be taken the wrong way, so I want you to look at me and listen closely.”

Kurt lifts his head and looks up at Blaine, and he knows his every thought is showing in eyes when Blaine gives him a sad look.

“Baby, listen to me, okay? You are a wonderful boyfriend, and an amazing sub. There is no failure on your part here. Do you understand that? This is not your fault.”

Kurt can’t fight the tears this time. Blaine immediately leans forward and pulls Kurt into his arms, cradling him and humming a soothing tune while Kurt cries and cries. His head spins with an undeniable feeling that it is his fault, despite Blaine’s words, despite how desperately Kurt wants to believe him, but still, relief floods through him that Blaine, at least, doesn’t blame him.

“Kurt, I want you to think about seeing a professional about these bad feelings. I want to take care of you, I do, and it’s not a burden on me at all, but I don’t think I can provide what you need to get through this. I think you need longer term care. I want you to think about it, because it is up to you if you want to pursue that. It’s just my opinion as your boyfriend, not my decision as your Dom, okay?”

Kurt nods, clinging tight and keeping his face buried in Blaine’s chest. It’s perfect here, dark and soft and it smells like Blaine, and he’s surrounded and held and safe.

“I also called Mel.” Kurt waits, listening--Blaine and Mel still keep in touch, though not as much. They haven’t related as much since Blaine left behind the smoking and the bad behavior and the piercings, and since he decided to go to college, something Mel vocally considers a waste of time, but they’re still friends. “You know she’s...played a little, in the scene. She put me in contact with a friend with hers, a Dom out her way. We talked a little bit today, and I’d like to get your permission to discuss our relationship with him. He might be able to give us some insight into how the...complexities of our relationship work. We’ll talk more after this weekend is done, after you’re feeling better and we can both be in a clear state of mind, and then I think we should discuss either going back to how we were in high school, or going even further. Consider...something more, at least, than what we’ve been doing. Do you think that would help you?”

Kurt looks up at Blaine, and a low-thrumming excitement washes through him.

“I--I think we should talk about it,” Kurt says, but nothing more--he doesn’t want to go against what Blaine suggested in taking their time and talking about it in a clear headspace.

“Then we have a lot to talk about,” Blaine notes with a smile. “Baby, would you go get me a pen and some paper? I think we should make a list, so we don’t forget anything.”

Kurt nods and gets up, happy to at least be able to do this for his Dom. One of Blaine’s legal pads and a pen from his bag end up on the coffee table, Blaine bent forward and scribbling on it, Kurt kneeling beside him and nodding along or adding his suggestions, until:

“I think that covers it. Can you think of anything else, baby?”

Kurt reads the list over one last time.

 _Phone call with Burt_  
Downswing--why and how to help   
Self-harming urges   
Kurt’s day at work--cause of vacation, etc.   
Potential therapy for Kurt   
Potential change in scene/lifestyle frequency/intensity   
Disobedience/punishment

“May I add something?” he asks on a whim. Blaine smiles and hands him the pen.

“Go ahead.”

Kurt carefully scrawls on the next line, his hand shaking faintly the whole time. Only a little sloppy, it reads _Schedule for each other_.

“I think we need to make more time for each other, somewhere,” Kurt says. “Even if we just make a phone call sometime instead of texting. I just...I miss you. I know we’re both busy, and it isn’t forever, but--”

“Don’t apologize or try to explain, Kurt,” Blaine says kindly, squeezing the back of Kurt’s neck gently. “I understand. I’ve missed you, too. We’ll figure something out, okay? It’s on the list, now.”

Kurt smiles gratefully, and then watches as Blaine look over the list, studying the little line between his eyebrows as he concentrates.

“I think we should get at least two of these out of the way,” Blaine suggests. “I at least want to know what happened today, and then we’ll talk about your punishment for what you tried to pull earlier. Okay?”

Kurt bites his lip for only a split second before he stops--he doesn’t want to disappoint Blaine now, not when he’s going to receive a punishment soon, not when he already has enough to make up for.

“I think that’s good for tonight,” Kurt says. “But...tomorrow...can we talk about the first three? They...they go hand-in-hand. And I want to talk about them, but I don’t know if I can handle that and today all at once.”

“That’s perfectly fine,” Blaine says, kissing Kurt’s forehead again. “As soon as you’re ready, tomorrow. Why don’t you come up here--”

Blaine reaches down and pulls at Kurt’s waist, guiding him up until Kurt’s sitting on his lap, ass cradled between Blaine’s legs, his own legs over the couch, his arms around Blaine’s shoulders and his head resting on Blaine’s neck, Blaine supporting him in his embrace.

“How does that feel?”

“Perfect.”

Kurt takes a deep breath, and then just lets it out. He tells Blaine all about the work he did, not skipping over anything, even the things he told Blaine about over text throughout the day. He tells him about how good he felt, how owned, with the plug, and how everything had been perfect until Portia had stuck her nose in. Blaine clenches his jaw and breathes deeply through his nose through Kurt’s account of their confrontation. But the tension drains and a huge smile breaks out on his face when Kurt tells him about Isabelle wanting to promote him.

“Kurt, that’s wonderful!” he praises. “I’m so proud of you.”

“We might have less time together, though,” Kurt says. “And how am I going to handle it? She told me _to my face_ that she’s seen how off I’ve been. Why on earth would she give--”

“Hush, baby,” Blaine says. “You deserve this position. You’ve earned it. And maybe without a crazy schedule that changes every week, we can figure out a better schedule for both of us that we can keep.”

Kurt just nods, nuzzling Blaine’s throat, which is faintly stubbled and smells so _good_.

“Ah, ah,” Blaine cuts in. “None of that just yet.”

He strokes above the line of the collar at the back of Kurt’s neck, just above the clasp. Kurt shivers under the light touch, his skin dancing with lit nerves all the way down his spine.

“You did something earlier that warrants punishment,” Blaine says. “I told you we’d address it as soon as you were ready. Are you feeling up to it?”

Kurt’s skin goes tight with anxiety, and maybe a little anticipation--what will Blaine do to him? And, if he’s being totally honest with himself, what release will he feel when his guilt is drained away in the wash of forgiveness and a clean slate?

So he whispers a faint _yes_ and breathes Blaine in one more time for strength.

“Okay, baby. I want you to go stand in the corner and think about the things you want forgiveness for. I expect you to be able to tell me what you did wrong and how you feel about it, and I want you to think about why it was wrong. I’ll call you back when it’s time.”

Kurt can’t help but feel his face fall when he walks over to the only corner that is free to stand in, at the back of the apartment across from the kitchen, the curtains that block their bedroom from the rest of the loft a few feet off to the side. When Rachel had lived here, it had been her room, but Kurt apportioned half of it for more room around his bed, and the rest is just a nook, a quiet place Blaine usually uses for phone calls and such--there’s a little chair, and a lamp, and a small table, and that’s it. Kurt slips by the table and stares into the corner, the artfully distressed paint, the line of the window in his periphery. It’s getting on toward evening and the light is dim there, so Kurt has not a whole lot to distract him as he thinks of what Blaine wants.

The punishment had been earned through his treatment of Blaine, when he had been on his way home from work earlier that day. He’d ignored Blaine’s decision and insisted on doing things his way, regardless of what was best or any discussion they could have had. He just ignored Blaine and stormed to the subway. And it was bad enough to do it at all--he’d been in a bad place, stressed and upset, and Blaine had been trying to figure out what was best. He hadn’t let him. But not only that, he did it while he was wearing his collar. He accepted Blaine’s Dominance, allowed the collar to be fastened around his neck, and there were expectations on both of them while he was wearing it. He had failed those expectations.

But that’s not the only thing he feels guilty about. He needs forgiveness for more than that. He wants Blaine to forgive him for not being careful when he looked up self-harming, for getting caught in something unhealthy for him, and for scaring Blaine when he saw what Kurt was looking at. And he wants forgiveness for thinking about it again, and for beating himself up so soundly earlier that day. He should have gone to Blaine for help, texted him, something, even if Blaine could only get the message once he got back into service. He shouldn’t have bottled it up all this time-- _weeks_ , if he really tells the truth to himself and trusts what Isabelle said as well. And he needs to apologize for not eating, for not taking care of himself and not admitting that he needed help. It was all wrong because it hurt him, and it hurt Blaine, and all those who care about him.

With all the thinking (and overthinking) he’s been doing this weekend, the conclusions come quickly, followed by remorseful tears. But he stands steady, head hung, hands clasped on either arm, over his stomach. It’s an old instinct, but it helps until Blaine calls out to him.

“Come here, baby.”

Kurt turns around and, feeling too vulnerable, hurries into Blaine’s arms, where he stands in front of the couch, waiting for him.

“I love you,” Blaine whispers, as Kurt clutches him and sobs.

“I love you too,” Kurt gets out, wrapped around Blaine. He hadn’t paid much attention earlier, but he’s wearing the softest shirt he owns, a plain white thing made of incredibly thin cotton he’d had even back when he was a Skank--it had been too big back then, just a touch, but now it’s filled out--Blaine’s never grown taller, but he’s not as skinny, not as drawn and awkward and he moves like himself now, like he’s comfortable being whoever he really is. No more smoking to take away his appetite, no more ridiculous metabolism, no more growth spurts to stretch his skin and bones. He’s just _Blaine_ , settled, comfortable, incredible.

“Now, let’s sit--you can kneel if you want, or you can sit next to me, but I want to see your face, okay?”

Kurt elects to kneel, needing to feel placed. It’s grounding, and reminds him why he’s doing this, what it fulfills in him.

“I’m sorry for arguing with you about how you would come to get me from work,” he says sincerely, fighting to keep his eyes on Blaine’s--it’s always overwhelming in these moments, when he’s putting himself forward and Blaine’s pushing into him like this, just gaze on gaze. It’s too powerful. But he bears up and does as he’s supposed to--keep eye contact with his Dom. “I shouldn’t have pushed my way. I should have discussed it with you calmly if I had a real issue, and trusted you if you maintained your decision. It was dangerous for me to travel all the way home upset like I was. And I did it while I was wearing my collar, which is unacceptable. I know what it means, and I went against it anyway.”

“Okay, Kurt,” Blaine says. “You did very well--”

“May I continue? I’m...I’m not done yet.”

Blaine looks a little surprised, but he nods, smiling at Kurt encouragingly.

“I’m sorry for scaring you on Thursday night, with...with those websites. I shouldn’t have looked at them, even out of curiosity. I should have been more careful in looking for help, and I shouldn’t have gone to the internet for that, I should have gone to you. It would have been less harmful to my mental state, and I wouldn’t have upset you so much. I also thought about it on the ride home, and I’m sorry for...for feeling like that was an option. I know it’s not. I don’t think I’d ever actually do it. But even thinking about it was wrong, and I don’t want to do that. And...I need to ask for help when I need it. I need to tell you, or tell somebody, when I’m feeling bad enough that I don’t even eat, and I need to realize when it’s happened. I was in denial, I guess--Isabelle said I’ve been off for weeks, and I think she’s right. I think it might have been longer than that, too--little things, bearing down on me. I’m sorry for letting it get out of hand, and not allowing anyone, especially you, to give me a hand keeping it under control.”

He trembles, and then sighs. “I think that’s it.”

Blaine pulls him in and holds him tight.

“I’m so proud of you, baby,” he says. “I know it was hard for you to think all of that, and admit it to me. You’re forgiven, for all of it. And as soon as we talk through our list, I think we’ll have answers to some of the problems that lead up to this. If not, we’ll revisit it. Does that sound good to you?”

Kurt pulls back and smiles, nodding. Blaine grins right back.

“Well, that’s it, then,” he says. “Thank you, baby.”

“Thank _you_ , Sir,” Kurt responds. Blaine strokes his cheek fondly.

“Come on. We’ll have dinner, and when I decide you’re far enough away from this, we’ll give you a little reward for being honest and open with me, and going beyond my expectations. Does that sound good?”

\--

It sounded good, but in practice, something’s off.

Kurt lies awake in bed that night, sweating and full. Blaine had, after a nice, filling dinner, pulled the plug from him, spread him and inspected his slightly aching hole, and then fucked him over the end of the bed, not even letting him crawl up onto the bed before he was plunging in, fucking him past his own orgasm and into the realms of oversensitivity before he filled him even more, shoving the plug gently back in and telling him to sleep.

But it doesn’t feel like enough. He’d come to the conclusions of what he needed to be punished for, and he’d been forgiven, but guilt still eats away at his stomach, roiling inside him like it’s actually eating him alive with barbed teeth of his own making. And they won’t _shut up_ , their chitter continuing through his head until the early hours of the morning, when he finally drifts off from pure exhaustion.

He needs _more_ than Blaine’s forgiveness. He needs his own. And being put in a corner was not enough for him.

It’s a scary thought, but it comes to him when he wakes the next morning, before Blaine even stirs. Maybe his fascination with what he’d seen on the websites he’d come across was something he needed. Not to cut himself open--not to scar himself. But to feel pain. He and Blaine have played in the scene long enough for him to know that pain is a big part of it--both the giving and receiving. Hell, Blaine’s even spanked him a few times, mostly back in high school when they’d been experimenting and discovering what they could do together, what worked. And it had felt good, in a strange way--it had hurt, of course, but it hadn’t gone on very long, he hadn’t been red or sore for very long after. It had given him a nice rush of arousal and a little bit of sting, and that was that. It didn’t change his life, it wasn’t something he needed.

But maybe he needs it now. He’s so used to being sure of himself that he rarely questions things that have worked for him. But maybe this is something they can rework. Maybe he needs more. Safe pain, as safe as it can get, a punishment that his Dom controls and administers lovingly, because he needs it, not lasting harm that he does to himself in self-hatred and desperation.

He just has to communicate this to Blaine, now. Somehow. Maybe it’s just best to say it as a sub, rather than any other way. Just stick to what it is.

There’s one way to make absolutely sure Blaine knows how deeply he wants to go into this.

It only takes a few minutes of sucking Blaine off before he first hardens, and then wakes up. He groans deep and raspy, and his fingers go right into Kurt’s hair. Kurt allows it, and just opens his jaw and lets Blaine guide him, lets him take exactly what he wants. Kurt’s jaw aches, and his lips feel tingly and swollen by the time Blaine pulls him down and comes deep in his throat. But the fond, awe-struck smile he gets when he swallows and rises up is worth it.

“Thank you for that, beautiful,” Blaine breathes, groggy but sated. Kurt bows his head and smiles shyly.

“You’re welcome, Sir.”

Blaine glances down at the use of the title, and then he yanks Kurt up and flips him, holding him down with his weight and his wrists held above his head.

“Can I take that as a sign that you need things...a little heavier?” Blaine asks.

Kurt trusts that Blaine knows exactly what he needs, and nods, silent, basking in the approaching feeling of floating calm that comes with Blaine taking control so completely like this.

“Follow me into the bathroom. Hands and knees.”

Blaine gets up and waits for Kurt to slide down off the bed and onto the hard wood floor. He can’t do it for too long, but crawling makes him feel something he can’t explain; there’s a peace in it, an atavistic submission, that seeps into him and pulls him to subspace faster than almost anything else. He follows after Blaine willingly, knowing Blaine is watching the way his body moves through this, hips swaying, arms swelling as they hold his weight, ass perked into the air, back stretching. He feels sexy and seen and the ache in his hands and knees is almost pleasant.

Blaine pulls Kurt to standing and helps him into the tub then, turning on the shower and following him in. He stays standing while Blaine washes them both, pressing gently at Kurt’s plug and making sure he’s still comfortable with it before playing with it just a bit, edging Kurt along and denying him his own release. By the time they’re done, Kurt is achingly hard, and Blaine seems to take an intense delight in making Kurt crawl with him naked, cock hanging heavy between his legs. Kurt blushes and trembles through it, but he makes it to the kitchen table, where he kneels and waits for Blaine to bring them breakfast.

“I think we should watch a movie,” Blaine says halfway through their meal, feeding Kurt from his own plate, offering him bites between his own. Kurt allows himself to be fed, his collar back around his dry, clean neck, the plug clenched inside him, the floor pressing his knees, all reminders of his place with Blaine right now.

The time isn’t right yet to ask. Kurt will know. So he nods and smiles up at Blaine, who cleans up and guides him to the living room.

“I’m going to tie you up, baby,” Blaine announces, when Kurt is kneeling on his pillow and ready to stay there. “You let me know if it’s good.”

He ties Kurt’s ankles together first, and then his wrists, which he tied up to his collar, keeping his hands over his collarbone. Blaine lets him stay like this, pressed into Blaine’s leg, as they watch a movie that Kurt honestly can’t remember. All he can focus on is Blaine’s hand trailing up and down his back.

It’s a surprise to him when Blaine shuts the TV off, the movie apparently over, credits rolling over the one glance of the screen Kurt can catch.

“How are you feeling?”

“Mmm,” Kurt hums, barely able for more. But he blinks--it’s time to tell Blaine what he needs, before he goes too far under and can’t manage to express it.

“Can...can I ask for something?”

“Of course.”

Kurt looks up at Blaine, grateful that his hands are tied over himself like this. He can’t fidget, and he feels shielded and loved.

“I want you to punish me.”

Blaine looks confused for a moment before he controls his expression, obviously trying to keep from criticizing Kurt unwittingly.

“What for, baby?”

“For...for the same things as yesterday. I...I feel like I need a harsher punishment. I still feel guilty. I--Blaine, I want you to hurt me.”

Blaine looks truly concerned now, but Kurt presses on.

“I don’t mean, like... _beat_ me,” Kurt stammers, quickly losing hand of the situation. “I mean...you’ve spanked me before. I want...that. But more.”

Big amber eyes widen, and Blaine appears to get it.

“If you’re sure that’s what you need, Kurt, of course I’ll do it,” he says. “You want more than a spanking?”

Kurt nods, and Blaine returns it.

“Okay then. Let’s go to the bedroom.”

\--

Kurt ends up standing, bend over the foot of the bed. His legs are tied to either post at the bottom, spreading his legs wide. His wrists are bound together above his head, and a long line of fabric ties them to the headboard, stretching him out. He can’t see anything, with his head buried tight between his arms, and his biceps press into his ears, making it difficult to hear as well. His own heartbeat and breath fill his head, and only instinct and a subtle shift of air tells him where Blaine is behind him.

“I’m going to paddle you, Kurt,” he’d said, just before he’d tied up his arms and cut off his hearing. “How many weeks have you felt this bad?”

Kurt considers, and then answers honestly. “Three. Three weeks.”

Blaine nods. “Twenty-one, then. Twenty-one days, twenty-one hits with this.” A big wooden spatula, one of a set Carole had gotten Kurt for his birthday the year he’d taken a cooking class to make up for what McKinley wasn’t teaching him. It’s the biggest of the bunch, almost entirely flat but for the slightest curve from handle to flat. The wood is hard, and Kurt knows Blaine will handle it well and not hurt him--he trusts him. “If you need to safeword, and you can’t speak, drop this.”

A white handkerchief stuffed in his hand, and then he’s tied up, and there he waits, only a faint rustle of movement behind him while he relaxes away from the fear of the paddle. Several times, he realizes that as soon as he’s relaxed, Blaine will strike, and so he prolongs his own waiting by tensing up, but finally, when he truly isn’t expecting it, a sharp _smack_ lands on one cheek.

It _hurts_. It’s sharper and deeper than Blaine spanking him with his hand, and it’s loud enough to reach his ears. And two hits later, when it overlaps with the first strike, it actually _burns_ , the pain radiating beyond the strike and going deeper into his body in a way he knows he’ll feel much longer than the paddling lasts. But far beyond deterring him, he actually wonders what different paddles would feel like--would a thicker wooden paddle designed for this go even deeper? How would a leather paddle feel?

Kurt loses count, loses himself in the feeling. His ass hurts but the pain is welcome, swelling and spreading in him and washing him with something _happy_ , something cleansing. He can feel in his fingertips the rush of--of whatever, some brain chemical Blaine would go on about for hours if he let him, it’s tinging his blood and bringing it through his body and so much of it is falling to where the paddle hits. His cock fills as well, harder than is at all comfortable, and he finds himself rocking against the bed and whining before Blaine is finished.

But finally he is, and then before he can process it, his hands are freed, rubbed carefully in Blaine’s fingers.

“Are you okay?” Blaine asks, sounding breathless. Kurt can’t even answer--he just holds tight to the handkerchief so he’s not mistaken, and ruts against the bed, ass tensing with the grind, giving him a taste of how sore he really is. But then Blaine’s hand is on him, hand feeling cool against the hot flesh of his abused rear, soothing and smooth and driving Kurt insane as it passes again and again over where the plug sticks out of him, but never touching it.

“Oh my god, you want it so much, don’t you?” Blaine growls, nipping at Kurt’s shoulder as he continues to rub him. “Want me to fuck you. Is that how you want me to show you forgiveness, baby? Want me to make you come again and again until you can’t remember your name?”

Kurt can almost believe the Blaine behind him is the same one who broke through to him all those years ago, pierced and tattooed and dyed and dressed in ridiculous clothes and smelling of nicotine and cologne. And god, he’s so turned on, he needs something _now_.

“Please,” he manages to grit out. “Please, pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease--”

“God, you beg like a whore,” Blaine hums, sounding so pleased, and fuck, Kurt needs something to _bite_. “You’d do anything to get filled up with a cock, wouldn’t you? Just never have enough come in that little ass of yours. Want to be fucked all the time. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” Kurt whimpers. They’ve talked like this before, but never to this level, and it’s...it’s new, it’s exciting. Kurt knows Blaine loves him, they’ve made love sweetly and gently and it was the physical manifestation of their hearts, but this is raw, this is something Kurt’s body wants, to keep him here while he tries to float, to keep him on the edge of this precipice before he lets go completely. “Yes, want your cock--”

“Such a slut,” Blaine groans, and somehow, between the beginning of this and now, he stripped, and he presses his body against Kurt’s, his cock sliding between his cheeks, bumping the plug and jolting it inside him. The hair on his chest and belly rubs against Kurt’s back as well, igniting him with so much friction, his stubble burning between Kurt’s shoulder blades. “Whose slut are you, Kurt?”

“Yours,” Kurt answers immediately. He fists the sheets on the bed, turning his head to get more breath and let Blaine hear him. “Yours, your slut.”

“Want me to mark you up?” Blaine asks. “That’s why you want me to fuck you, isn’t it? Paddling wasn’t enough. Want my hips to bruise you on the outside and my cock to do it inside. Want me to pound that ass til it’s red and watch my come drip out, you’ll be so fucked out. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes!” Kurt insists. He writhes, legs pulling against the binds on them, shaking the bed. “Blaine please--”

Blaine slaps his ass lightly, but the impact is a brand on Kurt’s skin. He cries out and Blaine shushes him gently.

“Sluts don’t get to call me by my name, baby,” Blaine says. “You have to earn that. Have to make sure you’re mine. Whose cock gets to fill you up, baby? Anyone who can get to it?”

“No,” Kurt moans, pressing back as Blaine finally, _finally_ pulls the plug from him. It’s slick and uncomfortable to be empty again, but soon Blaine is back with lubed fingers shoving roughly into him. “No, only you, only your cock--”

“Only me?” Blaine asks, feigning incredulity. “I think you might be lying. Someone as pretty as you. Must’ve bounced on half the cocks in this city, looking like that. Is that why you’re so good at it, Kurt? Have you been practicing for me?”

Kurt lets out a loud keen and doesn’t answer as Blaine pushes into him, thick and hard and almost as hot as the marks on his ass. He buries his face back in the bed, taking just a bit of the sheet between his teeth so he doesn’t crack something or bite his own tongue, and he’s grateful of it when Blaine starts giving it to him as he promised, slamming into him hard again and again, clutching his hips and pulling him back onto his thrusts.

“This is my ass, isn’t it, Kurt?” Blaine pants. “Made just for me. And it takes me so well, look at it swallowing me up. So greedy, baby. Such a slut for my cock. I bet you want my come already, don’t you?”

Kurt nods and presses back as much as he can, wishing he could spread wider and take Blaine deeper, and for the first time he hates the binds on the legs of the bed as they prevent him from offering even more of himself for Blaine to impale.

“Not gonna happen, beautiful,” Blaine says. “Want you to come again and again. Wanna feel it around my cock, wanna know I’m the only one who can do it to you.”

That in itself sends Kurt over an edge that’s been too close since he’d been denied that morning. He spasms and spurts on the bed beneath him, cock and stomach alike rubbing through the mess as Blaine refuses to give him time to breathe. He just angles himself expertly and lets him have it, drawing cries past his teeth clenched around the sheets as he hammers past his prostate as closely as he can, again and again and again, building him faster than his body can take toward coming again. It’s too soon, he can’t he can’t--

But apparently he can. They’ve never done this so rough, so close together, and Kurt is hard pressed not to scream as he comes again, painful this time, deep and tense and tight and god, Blaine is still talking behind him, pulling more from his body than he feels capable of giving, taking what he wants--

“Fuck, that’s right, so fucking tight,” he babbles, sweat dripping down between them, his weight pushing Kurt up and stretching him against the ties harder and harder. “Love when you clench around me. Just wanna keep me in you, huh? Can’t take it when you aren’t full of my cock--”

“Blaine,” Kurt gasps. It’s too much, he can’t take anymore. His ass screams, his prostate pulsing uncomfortably, and he knows, _knows_ , he can’t take anymore. “Blaine, please, I can’t--”

“Just a little more for me, sweetheart,” Blaine insists. And Kurt doesn’t safeword--it’s not there yet, but he might have to soon, oh, god, he doesn’t want to, he wants to keep feeling this forever but he _can’t_ \-- “Let me have you a little longer, baby. Want you so much--”

“Hurry,” Kurt begs. “Please, please come in me, please, need it to happen--”

“God, yes,” Blaine groans. “Wanna come in you, wanna see it, fuck, Kurt, fuck fuck--”

His hips stutter, and he hits Kurt just right, stabbing down into him, and he isn’t sure if he comes again or if he’s just had everything forced out of him, but he sobs as his cock dribbles out a weak stream onto the bed, softening rapidly as it’s unable to take a single second more, he can’t--

“Oh, _shit._ ”

Blaine grinds in, burying himself deep and rocking just a bit, something he does every time he comes inside Kurt, and moments later Blaine droops, cock slipping from his ass easier than he’s ever felt it. A warm trickle of come follows, sliding down to his balls, and Blaine lays a single kiss between his shoulder blades.

That’s the last thing he remembers. He’s awake, but he’s inside his head, someplace dark and warm and comforting, like he’s burying himself in Blaine’s chest again. He doesn’t feel it as more than a passing thought when Blaine lifts his unresisting body up the bed, nor when he’s cleaned up and some cool gel is applied to the deep ache where he’d been paddled. The next thing he knows, though, he’s in Blaine’s arms, cradled to his chest, halfway between laying on his side and on his stomach, and a faint line of drool falls from his mouth.

“Gross,” he says, his voice gritty and rough. Blaine laughs as he lifts up and wipes his mouth..

“I don’t mind it at all,” he notes, wiping the corner of Kurt’s lips where he’d missed it. “Are you okay? I feel like I hurt you.”

“No,” Kurt insists. He winces a bit when he pulls up to be level with Blaine, but he brushes it off. “I mean, yeah, I’m sore. But you didn’t _harm_ me. You gave me what I needed. I feel...I mean, it was hard, but I feel free, now. Like...like after a really long run, or lifting weights for a long time or something.”

“I’m sorry, are you telling me you’ve lifted weights before and never told me?”

Kurt chuckles, and shakes his head. “No. I mean...you pushed me. I pushed myself. And...and it was right. I know...some people might never get it. But I loved it.”

“You won’t let me give you a lecture on acetylcholines, will you?”

“Not a chance in hell.”

Blaine laughs and kisses him sweetly.

“Good,” he says. “I’d be worried if you did.”

Kurt smiles, and then it falls away as he realizes they have one more thing to discuss that needs to be said _now_.

“Speaking of that, though,” he begins. “Would you, um. Would you...maybe tell me what I can expect from therapy?”

Blaine’s eyes shine when he meets them. He looks _proud._

“I can,” Blaine says. “Though it’ll be different depending on who you see. People connect differently, it’s no different with a therapist or a doctor. It’s why I’m trying to have so many people staff the hotline--I want people to have a good chance of making a connection, so they can feel like they trust whoever they talk to.”

“Well, maybe I can call in a few times, while I wait for my doctor to get me a referral to a therapist,” Kurt offers. “Test it out. And I could find a good match, who knows.”

“Maybe,” Blaine grins. “Though it’d be ironic if you got me, right?”

“Don’t even start that,” Kurt says, smacking Blaine’s arm playfully. “You aren’t certified yet. And if you end up solving all my problems when the point is that you don’t solve all my problems, I’m going to have to sell the story to Hollywood on pure principle, and that’s not how I want to get famous--”

Blaine laughs and kisses Kurt through their smiles.

“I’ll just transfer you, then,” Blaine says. “But only on the phone. I don’t want to share you any other way.”

Kurt smiles slyly.

“My ass, and your filthy sex mouth, have given me ample proof of _that_ , Blaine Anderson.”

Blaine throws his head back and laughs again, and Kurt thinks, _I want to see that forever._ He just has to decide if he wants a ring or a contract to make it happen first.

Or maybe both.


End file.
